


Spark of Madness

by Blue_Five



Series: Lizards & Lightning [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Stiles Stilinski, Idiots in Love, M/M, Pain, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Torture, Trapped, Werewolf Jackson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 05:20:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11867571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blue_Five/pseuds/Blue_Five
Summary: Hunters and their traps have taken more werewolves than Stiles Stilinski cares to think about.  He only hopes this one doesn't take the wolf he loves.





	Spark of Madness

**Author's Note:**

> A kind reader made a sweet comment on one of my older Stackson fics and it got me in the mood for more. 
> 
> Notes/Warnings: Silver is a poison to Werewolves in this 'verse and descriptions of torture/death. Don't read if you'll trigger.

It's just supposed to be a routine sweep of the Beacon Hills industrial area.  Considering how quiet the town has been, the night patrols are only once a week now instead of every night.  Of course, Stiles Stilinski realizes much later that quiet in Beacon Hills is _never_ a good thing.

He's got scout duty tonight with Jackson Whittemore.  The blonde wolf barely acknowledges Stiles beyond short sentences and grunts.  Of course, it doesn't really matter -- they've never been friends and tolerate each other only because of Pack bonds.  After so many years, they can work together in near-silence just fine.  It's not perfect but it works for them and the time passes quickly as they methodically check off buildings.

Stiles uses a spell to enhance his night vision but it isn't perfect so he doesn't see the hair-fine trip wire.  Jackson only manages to catch the faintest glimmer out of the corner of his eye.  Between one inhale and the next, Jackson steps forward and slams his hand into Stiles' chest to propel the human backwards a few feet.  He hears the outraged squawk of pain when Stiles lands hard on the concrete floor but it gives way almost immediately to an unusual dismayed wail. The werewolf frowns in confusion but before he can examine Stiles' uncharacteristic concern for his well-being, the world flips upside-down then dissolves in a blaze of agony.

The trap is an elaborate web of monofilament wires. A snare line cinches around Jackson's ankle and jerks him off his feet directly into the lattice hidden in what they thought was a puddle of stagnant rainwater leaking from the levels overhead. Turns out they were half right--Jackson's currently tortured senses tell him the water was just a sight and scent cover for the silver nitrite diluted throughout the makeshift pond.  As his weight lands on the wires, they pull up and envelope Jackson.  The cocoon spins and an agonized howl echoes through the building. The wires slice into Jackson's flesh, allowing the salts entry to his blood.  He struggles to take short quick gasps of air because the web tightens with even the slightest movement.

_"JACKSON!"_

Stilinski's cry pierces his fogged awareness and Jackson manages to open one eye a sliver.  He's grateful that Stiles is panicking just beyond where the snare caught Jackson.  Hunters want to take down as many wolves as they can in an attack so there are probably more wires.  Stiles makes calming motions as if Jackson were thrashing madly.

"Don't move, baby!  Don't move ... the lines will cut you to pieces," Stiles begs frantically.

_Baby?_ Jackson wonders if maybe Stiles hit his head when he was knocked back.

Stiles' phone buzzes and he answers on speaker. 

"Stiles?  What's going on?  Derek --"

A roar splits the night air and suddenly Jackson feels the bond flare between himself and Derek -- an Alpha to his first Beta.  It's one of the strongest bonds other than Mates and instinct demands he answer but he can't.  Jackson whimpers faintly.  Stiles grips his phone and shouts into it.

"Scott it's a Hunter trap!"

"No ... Jackson?!"

"Yes ... Scott ... the wires ... they have silver on them."

Jackson hears Stiles' voice break at the end and he's almost more confused than terrified. It's not that he thinks Stiles doesn't care if he dies but he doesn't understand why it's affecting the human so _strongly_.  He can't be bothered to really ponder it because his anguished body is dying.  The wires are bad enough -- the victim must be released quickly or they lose too much blood or their own weight forces them through the lattice and mangles them to death.  It's a horrible way to die.  The silver, however, makes things so much worse because it is poisoning him.  Jackson is already losing too much blood; it drips into the pool beneath him. The sound is an odd counterpoint to the hummingbird thrum of Stiles' heartbeat.  If Jackson didn't know better, he'd think that Stiles was _grieving_ over what's happened.  He's never seen the Spark this upset.

Jackson's seen Stiles face down a Japanese tree spirit possessing a forgotten cherry tree in an abandoned lot.  The demon was killing people by stuffing them full of blossoms and leaving their bodies scattered at its base - mostly homeless or people taking the wrong shortcut.  Stiles had  _reeked_ of flowers for a month but he'd banished the spirit into a dead stump and burned it with spelled fyre before it could finish killing Liam.  Jackson remembered Stiles' heartbeat had remained strong and even during the entire battle.  If Stiles stays at his current level of distress, he'll stroke out long before Jackson draws his last breath. 

"Deaton's on his way to you with Isaac - _don't_ move him!"

Jackson's thin window of the world sees Stiles roll his eyes and throw up his hands in frustration before replying to McCall.

"Not an idiot, Scott ... just get him here before we have enough pieces of Jackson to play Jenga with," the human hisses angrily.

Jackson wishes he were capable of coherent sound -- he'd give his best amused snort here. Stiles' mastery of sarcasm truly reaches its pinnacle when he's stressed.  It doesn't matter if he's talking to one of the Pack or facing a chupacabra --  Stiles' mouth is as much a weapon as the rest of him.  Since he came into his own as a Spark, Stiles rivals his Pack mates for fierceness in battle.  It's something Jackson envies about Stiles. Well, _one_  of the many things Jackson envies about Stiles.  He's watched Stiles since they were kids -- watched him grow out of his physical and sometimes emotional awkwardness into someone amazing.  Jackson watches the Spark now and an ache that has nothing to do with his current circumstance fills his chest.

_Fuck you, Stilinski.  Why did you have to be the one that got in?_

"Stiles, I know how you --"

"Do not finish that sentence if you know what's good for you, Scotty."

_What the hell are those two talking about?_

A beep sounds over the line and Scott excuses himself to take the other call.  Stiles paces back and forth - a habit that always makes Jackson want to grab him and pin him down until he calms.  When Scott comes back, the young Alpha's voice is shaky.

"Stiles ..."

Stiles freezes just inside Jackson's line of sight.  _"What?"_

"Deaton and Isaac ... they've been cornered -- we have to get to them, Stiles!  They won't make it to you!"

"Wait, Scotty!  What am I --"

"Derek is on his way!  I gotta go!" Scott yells before the call ends.

_"_ _FUCK_ _!"_

The building actually tremors at Stiles' outburst.  Jackson sways with the vibration and the wires tighten around him.  He thought he couldn't scream but he manages a strangled shriek anyway.  It's more animal than man at this point and Jackson knows he's on the verge of going feral from the pain.  A voice talking so fast it's hard to make out actual words cuts into his misery.

" ... so sorry, babe ... oh god, I'm so sorry ... damn it, why did you push me out of the way?  You stupid, perfect idiot ... you just _have_ to do everything your way ... fuck, Jackson .... Jackson please don't die ... please don't ... I'm not ... I'm not ready to let you go ... I can't ... oh god, I can't breathe ... I can-can't ... oh fuck ..."

Jackson watches helplessly as Stiles collapses to his knees.  Ragged wheezes are all that Stiles can manage and Jackson knows the man will pass out soon -- Stiles might be a badass in battle but his panic attacks are legendary in their Pack. 

"Stiles."

Jackson's voice is so faint, Stiles shouldn't hear it but he does.  He lifts his leaden skull and sees a single, glowing blue pupil gazing at him.  He's talking before he can stop himself.

"Please don't die, Jackson ... I never got to tell you I love you."

And of course Jackson, wrapped in razor sharp wire, bleeding to death and slowly being poisoned, rolls his one good eye.  It shocks Stiles so much, his panic attack dissipates as if it never existed.

"Really?  I bare my heart and soul to you and you give me _attitude_?"

"... love ... you ... too ... idiot ..."

"Of course you -- wait, what?"  Stiles gapes.  "You ... _love_ me?  Too?  As in, 'also'?"

Jackson wonders if maybe Stiles' head trauma is greater than he suspected.  He can blame his own idiocy on blood loss.  Probably the lightheadedness as well.  He wonders at the smell of gun oil when it dawns on him that they are no longer alone.

"So fucking bee-yoo-tee-full, kid!"

Stiles whips around to find three men with their rifles trained on both himself and Jackson.  All of them are wearing desert fatigues and they carry the weapons with an easy familiarity.  The patches on their clothes aren't standard military but instead originate from some made-up rank order for one of the many Hunter groups in the world.  The man in the center has a large eagle over his rank and so Stiles thinks he's the head honcho.

Stiles tries to consider an escape plan when the leader levels his gun at Jackson with a smirk and the other two focus on Stiles.  The idea that he is about to watch Jackson die angers him.  Stiles is probably going to die not long after Jackson.  The _unfairness_ of it all hits him hard.  It's not _fair_ that they aren't going to get to be together.  It's not _fair_ that he doesn't get to do all the stupidly common dating things with Jackson.  It's not _fair_ that they wasted _so much time._ It's just _Not. Fair._

Stiles is a Spark.  He gains more control over his abilities daily and his knowledge is near Deaton's level.  However, he's not even 30 yet, so much of his power is still controlled by emotion.  The devastation he feels over even _thinking_ that Jackson will die before they've shared a touch, a kiss, a fucking entire conversation ... it's more than Stiles can contain.  The power builds within him and his eyes gleam hot amber.  The sound of a rifle shot in such close quarters makes Stiles wince in pain.  The Hunters wear ear protection.  He does not so it's no surprise when blood runs down his neck from a ruptured ear drums.  Stiles feels the air displacement as the bullet leaves the barrel.  He sees the blaze of flame from the gunpowder.  He knows the trajectory and his anger becomes rage.  He doesn't hear the howl from behind him.

Jackson knows Stiles possesses greater power than anyone gives him credit for.  He fell in love with the Spark not long after his _nogitsune_ possession.  Stiles recovered from that with a grace that surprised Jackson.  He knew his own pain and fear following the _kanima_ incident was almost more than he could stand so watching Stiles just rebound stronger than ever amazed Jackson.  He began to watch Stiles and what he saw turned everything he believed about the human on its head.  He began to really _see_ Stiles.  He sees the depth of his loyalty and the unbelievable strength he displays when someone he loves is in danger.  Jackson wonders briefly how anyone including himself could have ever considered Stiles weak.  The Pack is everything and Stiles is the Heart whether or not anyone else knows it.

It's going to hurt like hell but Jackson knows he won't survive this night and the last thing he does is going to be to save Stiles.  With a full-body wrench, Jackson pulls his legs and arms up until he's a ball wrapped in a tightly woven web of agony.  It takes everything he has but he expands his body, pushing outward with arms, legs, hands, feet -- the wires cut him and slice away skin to the bone but he doesn't relent.  Shifting to his Beta form is nothing less than sheer Hell on Earth but Jackson somehow manages it.  He grips the filaments with his claws and _pulls_.  Soft at first, the wires _twang_ as they come free from anchors and then each other.  Jackson hears a rifle fire and it reverberates like thunder in his head as he falls into the water, washing silver nitrates over his wounds.  The howl torn from him this time, however, is that of a feral werewolf on the hunt.  Jackson is gone and all that's left is the Wolf.  And it wants blood.

* * *

Derek surveys the scene before him and thinks he's probably never going to know the identities of the three Hunters who set this snare.  What's left of them decorates the walls, floor and ceiling ... and most of it isn't even identifiable as _human_ much less as something that once had a name.  He sees wire fused with the ... remains ... and his eyes widen.  Whatever rage he felt about Jackson dissipates like smoke on the breeze.  His Beta is going to be a long time recovering but the Hunters have paid for it and then some.

"I feel your judgey eyebrows, sourwolf."

Derek snorts.  "No, just ... impressed.  Did they feel anything?"

Stiles looks up and Derek has to fight not to take a step back.  The Spark's eyes are like amber lightning storms.  "Oh they felt _everything_ , Alpha.  Might still be feeling things, actually."

Derek isn't sure what he means by that so he ignores it.  "You could have left _something_ for us to id them with, you know."

The young man's forehead creases.  "They _hurt_ him, Derek ... they hurt my ... they hurt--"

"Stiles."

Just like that, Derek ceases to exist.  Jackson looks like hell and Derek wonders how the young werewolf is even still _conscious_ let alone talking.  The single blue-green eye that can see is focused on Stiles and the attention is returned with equal intensity.  From what Derek can see, Jackson is completely and utterly smitten and never mind that his boyfriend's eyes are visual evidence that the Spark just manifested _incredible_ power.  If he could stand to look, Derek's pretty sure Stiles is looking at Jackson with just as much love.  _Finally._   He's been watching these two idiots dance around each other and pine silently while pretending they couldn't stand each other for far too long.

"There you go, judging me again, Derek," Stiles chuckles.  He looks over his shoulder and Derek feels the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  "But you don't get to give us shit until you make an honest man out of a certain deputy-slash-hellhound."

Derek rolls his eyes.  Of course Stiles knew.  He decides he needs to be elsewhere.  "Whatever.  I'm going to call for back up -- Jackson needs to be taken back to the den.  Your room, I'm assuming?"

Stiles grins and shakes his head.  "Hell no ... Jackson's bed is bigger."

"... really ... Stilinski?"

Derek snorts.  "Yeah, good luck with that one, Jackson."

As Derek starts to walk off, his enhanced hearing picks up ... ever so faintly ... a sigh.  Two more follow in quick succession.  Ice ripples down his spine.  _They were still alive ... he literally painted the walls with them and they were still alive ..._

Derek pulls out his phone to call Jordan Parrish.  There's no way in Hell he's sleeping alone tonight ... he wonders if Jordan will mind leaving the lights on.

**Author's Note:**

> "You're only given a little spark of madness. You mustn't lose it." -- Robin Williams


End file.
